Come Clean
by FreckledSatan
Summary: Hey ya'll, I have decided I'm going re-write this story cause I don't like the route I took with it. I'm re-publishing it under the name Ode To The Bouncer. Thank you so much for being understanding :)
1. -

There was always risk. It came with the territory. But, this, was a risk she never anticipated. She shouldn't be here. She shouldn't even be thinking about being here. But, here she was. And she was about to knock on the door


	2. Alive

Don't get high on your own supply. That's a valuable lesson. Unless your supply was one of the biggest in the continent. Enough to fuel thousands, maybe millions, of heroin addicts,pillheads, and PCP fiends until they either overdosed or got snatched up by the cops and caught a case. Never if they got clean. Because, in Gotham, nobody ever got clean. And if they did, it didn't last long. In this city, drugs were easier to find than the clouds in the sky. The hardest part was finding the good stuff. Something that wasn't laced or hadn't been "stepped on" a dozen times before reaching the hands of the buyer.

The head dealers in Gotham fought for territory. There were gangs, shootouts, drive-by's, endless amounts of homicide. It was a dirty game. But, it was business.

Harley knew that. It was just business. But, it wasn't.

People overdosed in the streets every single day. Gotham hospitals were constantly running out of beds and overspilling with overdose patients. Pharmacies were being robbed for over the counter medication for whatever concoction a junkie could dream up in times of desperation. Innocent people were dying at the results of robberies or high-induced homicides. And she had contributed to it.

Well, it wasn't necassarily all her. She was just a dealer in a big, ugly, web of king pins. She was about as important as a chess pawn but, at the same time, as crucial as a knight. It was people like her that kept the cycle up and running. If her and every other stringer in Gotham chose to quit the drug game would take a blow. But, that would never happen. She knew that.

She didn't have time to think about it or to feel guilty. She had a job to do. So, she dipped into her supply. Just a tad. She took one pill and a hit of a friend's joint. With the speakers booming and the lights dancing over glistening, jumping bodies that surrounded her, a party drug was only necassary. The ecstasy hit soon after and her body felt like it was made of dripping honey. Everything was simply...great. Her night was starting with a jolt and if she kept going at this pace, it wasn't going to slow down until daylight. That was the way she liked it.

Harley knew he was watching her. He liked to perch on one of the high balconies and watch her beeline across the club, dancing and spinning. His eyes followed her everywhere she went. She loved it.

Under the club lights she saw her first customers of the night. A group of young boys who looked like Republican college kids. It was odd to see that type in Gotham but, it was spring break and Florida was probably all out of hotel rooms.

"Hey boys!" She smiled, her pigtails bouncing like something out of a cartoon.

"Hey baby!" A muscular boy in a pink button down shirt took the liberty of wrapping his arm around her waist. She hated that, but it was all part of the sale. She leaned into him, smelling the scent of vodka and cigarettes seeping from his sweaty underarms.

"Dance with me!" He shouted, his three friends forming a tight circle around the two. She smiled and giggled, turning to face him.

"Do you guys wanna have some fun?" She balled his shirt in her fist and pulled him close. The ecstasy she'd dropped made the fabric of his button down feel good against her skin. But, even the pill wasn't enough to make her want him.

"Heh, what do you have in mind?" He chuckled, tightening his hold on her waist and gripping a large hand on her hip. Harley swung her backpack off of one arm and unzipped it, revealing the copious amounts of drugs to choose from. They were packed in baggies, wrapped in plastic wrap, some packaged like mints. Each baggie had a large smiley face printed on it while each pill was stamped with the same design.

The man smiled and looked at his friends. One of the boys was sheepishly shaking his head.

"Come on dude. It's spring break!" His buddy nudged his shoulder.

"Its spring break!" Harley repeated, smiling and dangling the bag in front of him.

"Is it...Is it safe?" The shy one asked nervously.

"Oh my god!" Harley made an offended face. "You really think I would try to sell you boys something laced? Something that wasn't quality? I can't believe it." She turned to walk away. The one with his arm around her tightened his hold.

"Wait, hold on." She smirked, and then turned to face them again.

"What's your name?" He asked.

"Harley."

"Well, hello Harley, I'm Johnathon. That's Skylar, and the buzzkill over here is Colin. See, now we're friends." He smiled at his buddies and pulled Harley into a sideways hug.

"Harley, you wouldn't hurt your friends, would you?" Johnathon asked. She could feel his hand lowering to her ass as he called her his friend.

"Never ever, Johnny boy." She looked to Skylar and Collin. "What can I do to prove it?"

Collin squinted at her.

"Take one with us."

Johnathon and Skyler nodded.

"That sounds fair." Skylar commented. Harley rolled her eyes and laughed.

"You boys just don't trust girls now a days, huh." She plucked four ecstasy pills from her bag. Each was wrapped like a mint and came in four different colors. Blue, yellow, pink, and green.

"I call green!" Johnathon shouted and snatched the green from her palm.

"Hey! No fair!" Harley exclaimed. "I wanted green."

Johnathon smiled and leaned close.

"Kiss me for it."

Harley rubbed her long nails over his face and gave him a soft kiss on the lips. She slid the green packaged pill from between his fingers and traded it for the yellow one.

"Now boys, it'll be fifteen dollars each."

The three boys handed her the money. Johnathon gave her a twenty and didn't ask for change.

"Alright, on the count of three. 1, 2, 3!"

All four set the pills on their tongues and threw their heads back as they chased it with a drink. Harley stuck her tongue out to prove she swallowed her portion. Each of the three boys did the same. She giggled.

"I've gotta go to the little girl's room. Meet back with you in ten!" She kissed Johnaton on the cheek and skipped off across the dance floor, savoring the taste the sugar pill had left in her mouth.

An ecstasy pill here and there was okay. But, taking one every time she did a deal? It would kill her. She knew green pills were just placebos and she fell back on them every time a client asked her to test her product. She'd even accidentally sold a few but, she'd be dead if Joker found out she was selling low quality product with his brand on it.

All over Gotham was brands of the top dealers. Penguin put a top hat on his pills or bags of H or coke. But, it was often low quality or hardly anything good enough to last. Two Face marked his product with dollar signs. It was hardly appropriate because his product was sold for extremely low prices. Sometimes even three dollars a hit. But, he cut his pills and powders with anything that remotely resembled the drugs. Things like baking powder, chalk dust, baby powder, sleeping medication, and sometimes even flour. So, unless someone wanted a small quick high or a nose full of nothing, the place to go was to Joker.

Joker was the top dealer in Gotham and his product was from foreign cartel bosses. From places like South America or Switzerland or Russia. Harley had no idea how he smuggled it in and she didn't want to know. She just hoped he never asked her to be a mule; but, she knew that day would come if she continued climbing the ranks in his little world of deals.

And she was climbing alright. She was his top stringer and the apple of his eye. She brought in double the revenue of most of his thugs and by selling only half the product. She was beautiful, bubbly, charming, and energetic. She had something his big, burly, growling goons could never have. A sense of trust, of care, and lovingness about her. She was a natural born people person and this job was perect for her.

If she were to choose which dealer to work for, she was happy to say she worked for Joker. She'd never once heard of him lacing a hit of heroin or a party pill. He was honest with his product. He cared what people got from him. She admired that. It was fucked up to say that. But, he had this way of getting her attention.


	3. Spotlight

When daylight came Harley was exhausted. Her high had ended hours ago and she was going through the aftermath of a crash. Her nose and throat were stuffy and her eyes bloodshot with heavy eyelids drooping down on top of them. She hadn't met back up with Johnathon but she was pretty sure she sold product to almost every person in the club, including a few of the bartenders. She had a backpack full of cash and a little bit of product to spare.

It was time to meet back at what she called HQ and meet with Joker to get her cut of the proceeds and re-up on supplies before she went home to rest before work later that night.

She caught a cab to the hotel he was currently residing in. He changed addresses at least three times a month and changed phone numbers even more often than that. Harley also admired the fact that he was so careful about his whereabouts.

She took the elevator ride to the tenth floor where he was. She paused in a hallway mirror to readjust her hair and clean off the slight amount of glitter from the night prior. She'd even put on perfume so that she didn't smell like sweat and Jaegar bombs.

When she knocked on the door, a bodyguard answered. He nodded to her and she rolled her sleeve up, revealing the small smiley face tattoo on the inside of her arm. Each stringer was given one. It was a sacrifice that had to be made if you wished to make the money Joker was willing to give to the hard working. She was willing and ready. The job gave her a rush like no other and having something so special and secretive as a tattoo gave her this...satisfaction. It made her feel important. Or like she was in on an inside joke the rest of the world was unaware of.

"Harley, dear." He cackled from the bed.

Harley skipped in, smiling at him. He was wearing the same striped slacks and polished business shoes from the club, but his button down vest, purple bow tie, and blazer had been traded for a wife beater which clung to his toned stomach. He was pale and his muscles were glistening with sweat. He was clammy from a crash off of coke.

"Hi, Mister...Mister uh," Harley never knew what to call him. Mister drug boss? Mister scary guy? Mister boss? "Mister Joker." She settled.

"Call me Mr.J. But, don't tell your stringer friends, they'll get jealous." He smiled and lit a cigarette. His long pointed chin and sharp features gave Harley an odd feeling. She was intimidated but so mesmerized.

"What have you got for daddy today?" He arched a thin eyebrow at her. Hearing him say that made her blush. She tossed her backpack to him, proud of what she'd accomplished.

He dumped it out onto the bed like a trick or treat goodie bag and smiled at what he found.

"Good work Harley girl!" He sifted through the cash, counting out loud.

"Thanks...Mister J." She blushed again, rubbing at her smiley face tattoo as she said it.

He looked up from the money and cocked an eyebrow at her.

"Hey, uh...whatever your name is." He waved a pale hand at his guard. "Gimme some time alone with this one."

The guard nodded and exited the room. Harley immediately straightened her stance and swallowed hard. She'd never been in a room alone with him. He curled a finger at her, motioning for her to join him on the bed.

"What's your drug of choice, my dear?"

She sat on the foot of the bed, rubbing her arm and crossing her legs.

"Uh...Well, I like weed, Molly, X, Adderrall. Things like that."

"Hm." He smiled.

"What?" She asked in a shy tone. It was odd. Harley was never shy.

"Those are rookie drugs. Coke, heroin, PCP. That where the real high is, my girl." He ashed his cigarette onto the bible on the nightstand.

"I know. I just...don't wanna get myself into trouble."

He cackled at that.

"You're a stringer for one of the biggest dealers in all of Gotham. You aren't exactly a saint, even if you look like one." He winked at her. She didn't know how to respond.

"Speaking of you being a stringer, Harley." He stood and began to pace back and forth.

"I think it's time you uh, how should I put this…" He cupped his long fingers around his chin and used his other hand to push loose green curls out of his eyes. "I think its time you become my co-captain in all of this."

Harley's eyes widened.

"It's a big business. I can't do it all myself and all these lowlife, shit for brains, assholes who string for me can barely tell their dick from a doorknob."

Harley laughed at that and clapped a hand to her mouth to stifle it. He smiled.

"You're smart. You know how to sell. I know you're capable of much more than just dancing around nightclubs and selling to frat boys."

"Well, thank you so much." She smiled. "I'd love to."

"That's a good girl." He circled the bed until he was standing directly in front of her.

"What...What uh, duties would I have?" She asked, looking up at him. He towered over her by at least a foot and a half, even while she was standing.

"Well, you would recruit new stringers, make sure product arrives when and where it should be going, help me deal with...unsavory people." He smiled and flicked his cigarette across the room, not caring where it landed. He leaned forward, placing a hand on each side of Harley onto the bed. "So, Harley, what do ya say, hm? Will you do that for me?"

She nodded, looking up to meet his piercing green eyes. She was uncomfortable. His stare was frightening and made her feel like she was being watched by a lifeless object such as a doll or a stuffed animal. But, something about it drew her in.

"Yeah...I mean, yes, I'll do it!" She beamed.

"Thatta girl!" He exclaimed, bringing one of his hands to her jaw and stroking his thumb over her cheek. She let out a small gasp, surprised by the feeling of his cold flesh. He felt like porcelain. He leaned forward and planted a kiss on her lips. It was rough and hard and their teeth bumped together.

"Do you do this with all the stringers you promote?" She joked. He chuckled. Then he laughed. And then he threw his head back and cackled wildly. He shook his head at her.

"You! You!" He sighed. "You are exactly, what I've been missing."

Harley took those words and clung to them. She clung to them for the following year to come.

They'd made love for the first time that day. Well, something of the sort. It was rough and quick and they'd done it on top of the money and product. Harley had tried to kiss him during only to be laughed at while he continued to move on top of her. It wasn't as pleasuring as she had hoped but, she blamed it on his crash from the coke high.

Afterwards, he had given her her pay, no more or less than the last time, and sent her on her way. He requested she meet with him at the club later that night.

Harley headed home, feeling slightly disappointed with her first encounter of sleeping with Joker yet, over the moon with happiness at the sudden new instance of contact with her boss as well as the job promotion.

She climbed the stairs to her apartment and sprawled out on her bed, coming down from the rush of the night and morning. Her apartment was nice. The living room was filled with a matching set of leather furniture, her kitchen was full of top of the line appliances, and her wardrobe was full of designer clothing. The job paid well.

Being a single, twenty one year old, woman in Gotham would usually be a hard life to live. Not that her life was exactly a carefree one. But, she never needed to worry about having money for food, or bills, or clothing, or anything she needed. She watched the people around her struggling to make it every day, struggling to pay rent, or to feed themselves. Part of her wished she could let them in on her secret little world. Boost them up the way the drug game had done for her. But, she knew that meant risking being caught or reported or even worse. So, she kept her mouth shut.

That night, Harley arrived at the club, sporting a new outfit she'd picked out just for Joker to see. She was carrying her backpack with her, dangling it on her fingertips as she approached the bouncer. The club was owned by a man named Ra's Al Ghul. He allowed Joker to take it as his territory and dealing ground as long as he recieved a hefty percentage of proceeds. Harley was one of the few stringers allowed to openly deal in the club. Joker had the rest of his goons on the streets, working corners and alleyways. Harley felt lucky to be granted the privilage of working in the bubbly club all night, keeping warm under the spotlights and hum of booming speakers.

She climbed the stairs to the balcony where Joker was leaning on the railing. He was already high on something. He kept flicking his tongue out of his mouth and twitching his body around in crazy jolts. Harley set a hand on his arm and felt the back of his hand collide with the side of her face. She gasped and jumped back, holding at her already sore cheek.

He laughed.

"Harley, you shouldn't sneak up on me like that."

She choked back tears and hugged her backpack close to her chest.

"So, what do you want me to do tonight?"

"What you always do. But, try and find me some new stringers, would ya? Maybe a few as pleasant as you."

He pulled her into a tight embrace. His thin, bony frame was shaking and convulsing in twitches and his face was drenched with sweat. He kissed Harley sloppily and then stalked off to a VIP section to speak with a man who looked very similarly to a crocodile.

Harley shot her arm into her backpack and dug around until she found a pill wrapped like a mint. Without looking at it she popped it into her mouth and shoved the wrapper into her black miniskirt pocket. The smack had dampened her mood. She chased her pill with a drink and instantly felt bubblier. She went to the dancefloor and began to feel the rhythm of the music. She swayed with the beat, bumping into people around her and feeling a mix of her own and strangers' sweat on her skin. She wasn't even in the mood to sell right now. She wanted to dance and feel the waves of heat and numbness wash over her body as her high rised in her.

She looked up to the balcony to see if he was watching her again. He wasn't. He was draped over a girl who looked too drunk to understand where she was. He was laughing and pulling the girl in closer. Harley frowned.

She danced until her legs burned from movement and her heart was racing like a hummingbird. She paused to catch her breath and scanned the crowd, seeing the blend of strangers all colored green from the spotlights above. Each time the beat dropped or sped up, the lights changed colors. Boom. Red. Boom. Blue. Boom. Green. Boom. Yellow. She lowered her gaze and across the dance floor locked eyes with a pair of bright green ones.

Boom. Pink.

And for what seemed like forever, the lights stayed pink. Everything seemed to blur as she stared. The eyes were coming closer. Harley walked towards them, seeing as she got closer it was a woman. She was taller than Harley and her hair was like a hurricane of fire. The music in her ears was replaced by the sound of her own heartbeat.

Suddenly she felt like she was underwater. Her chest was tight and her senses were numb. The woman stood in front of her.

Boom. Red.

She smirked at Harley and extended a hand. Harley took it and realized the reason her chest was tight was because she wasn't breathing. She inhaled deep, feeling like she'd broken the surface of the ocean.

Boom. Yellow.

Harley was pulled into an embrace. The body wasn't bony and jagged this time, but soft and warm. Their hips met, and arms entangled around each other's necks. The woman's red hair looked enchanting under the club lights while Harley's hands felt the soft fabric of her green crop top. She wondered what the girl's ripped jeans and fishnets would feel like against her skin.

Boom. Orange.

"Wow."

She breathed, feeling the heat of the woman moving against her.

"Hi." The other woman smiled. "What's your name, pretty girl?

Harley giggled. Her high felt different this time. Not as strong as usual but, this woman was bringing it back to its peak.

"I'm Harley." She pressed her forehead against her's. "And, yours?"

"Pam." She swayed her hips in a quick movement that took Harley by surprise. "But, you can call me Ivy."

Boom. Green.

The dancefloor was crowded and loud. But, as they swayed, everything seemed to mute and disappear. Ivy's hands cascaded down to Harley's hips. Harley responded by twirling herself so that her back pressed against Ivy's front.

"You're so beautiful." Ivy whispered into her ear.

Harley blushed.

Boom. SMACK.

Harley crashed to the floor. Ivy had toppled over a bit but, had managed to stay upright. Joker was on top of Harley on the ground, grabbing her by the hair and switching between slapping and punching her in the face. Harley was confused and in a world of pain. Ivy tackled him, taking them both into a nearby table which sent drinks and glasses flying onto the floor. No one stepped in, knowing who Joker was and the abilities he had.

Harley crawled to her knees and held a hand to her bloody nose, trying to calm her dizziness. Ivy and Joker rolled around on the ground for a few seconds before a bouncer tore her off of Joker and roughly carried her to the door.

Joker climbed to his feet and grabbed Harley by her backpack. He drug her to the backdoor as she flailed her arms and legs, screaming for help. He took her to his car and threw her into the passenger seat. He kicked at her a few times before he climbed into the driver's side.

"You come into my business, you use my product, you embarass me in my establishment!"

He swung his fist and connected it with her lips. She curled into a ball and tried to cover her head.

"I do you a favor and this is how you repay me!"

He swerved the car as he continued to hit her. Harley cried until they reached the hotel. They got to his room where he did the same thing to her he'd done earlier that day, only rougher and without removing any of her clothes besides her underwear. He'd hit her again and bit large red crescent moons into both of her shoulders and the sides of her neck.

When he finished and went to the balcony to smoke, Harley went into the bathroom to take a shower. Her face was already bruising and her lip was busted and swollen. Her nose was covered in dried blood and her hair looked like some of it had been ripped out.

She stripped naked. Her skirt fell to the ground where she noticed something had fluttered out of the pocket.

It was a green pill wrapper.


	4. Manners

"That was the first night you met her?"

The man asked, tapping his finger against the witness stand.

"Was that the first night you met Pamela Isley, Ms. Quinzel?"

"Yes. That was the first night we had ever met." She answered, leaning into the microphone.

All eyes were on her. From the jury, to the audience. Even the cameras. This trial was viewed nationally. As if she were OJ or a Menendez brother. She brushed her small hand through her thick head of hair and sighed, looking down at her lap. She could see the metal cuffs around her ankles under her dress.

"And this man, the one you call Joker, what is his legal name?" The legal defendant asked, pacing the courtroom floor.

"I don't know." She answered honestly, shrugging her shoulders.

"Harleen, you understand that it's imperative you give all information to the best of your ability to avoid a longer sentence or even the death penalty in terms of criminal conviction in this trial?"

"Yes...I understand." She said sheepishly.

"So are you absolutely sure that you do not know this man's name?"

The lawyer turned and pointed his finger to Joker sitting with his own lawyers, staring her down his pointed nose with his hawk-like eyes. She made eye contact with him and watched his disgusting grin crawl across his face. His yellow teeth reminded her of squirming maggots and splintered wood.

"I never learned his name. Everybody always called him Joker or J."

"Did he ever refer to himself as anything other than Joker or J?"

Harley sat and thought, sticking her tongue into her cheek.

"He called himself Jackson Kilgariff once or twice."

"And when was that?"

Harley stood on the balcony of the hotel room just a few days after Joker had dragged her from the club by her hair. She was still sore and bruised and her sinuses hurt from the coke binge Joker had made her join in with him. She was sure he was sleeping now, passed out hard in bed with a puddle of cold sweat under his clammy body.

She considered leaving through the door but the big burly guard was still erected outside in the hallway. She considered jumping off the balcony, but it was too far of a drop and would surely break an ankle or foot. On top of it all, her head was pounding from the crash off the drugs.

She finally decided her only way out was to sleep. She quietly crawled into bed next to the unconscious Joker, laying with her back to him. She managed to doze off for an uncertain amount of time. When she opened her eyes, darkness was pouring in from the balcony and the carpet below her shone white with the light of the moon. The weight of Joker's lanky limb wrapped around her waist alerted her. Her heart began to race and her mind began to work to try to find a way out once again. His hold tightened and she could feel his bony chest pressed against her back.

"Harley." He croaked. "I wanted to tell you sorry for the other night."

She cocked her head in surprise and cleared her throat.

"W-What do you mean?"

He laid his face against the side of hers and let out a breath. The feeling of the slight breeze against her ear made chills go up her spine. She didn't know whether to categorize them as good or bad. Or both.

"I'm sorry for being so rough with you." He took the opportunity to drag his long fingernails over her stomach. "I didn't mean to bruise you up so bad." He chuckled lightly.

Harley took a deep breath and exhaled.

"It's okay." Was all she could muster. She put her own hand over his own on her stomach and slightly pressed herself against him.

"When I'm off the drugs, sometimes I just get a bit... _antsy._ " He chuckled again. He brushed his chapped lips against the exposed side of her neck. She turned to face him.

"When was the first time you ever snorted a drug?"

It was a random seemingly out of the blue question. She hadn't even thought about it and she didn't know why she had even asked.

He rolled onto his back and laughed, staring up at the ceiling. He slapped his hand onto the nightstand and found a half smoked cigarette that he lit. Harley lay next to him, head perched on her hand.

"First time I ever snorted a drug…" He trailed off, blowing smoke into the air. "Oh!"

He shouted then coughed.

"First grade!" He cackled. "Big sister and I had gone on a walk in the woods. She was _ohhh thirteen or so?_ " He turned his head towards the door, seemingly staring into space. "She took me to our favorite little play spot. A rusted out, abandoned car we'd play in. I would always hide under it and she'd walk in circles acting like she couldn't find me."

He took a drag off his cigarette, the cherry burning bright in the dim room.

"Jackson! Jackson! She'd yell and kick the car."

"Jackson? Who's Jackson?" Harley asked.

"Oh well that's me darling. Jackson Kilgariff. Good ole Kilgariff kids. Whole town loved us."

He flicked the cigarette across the room, allowing it to land on the carpet.

"Where do the drugs come in?" She asked, running a finger over the center of his bare chest. She noticed he was covered in tiny scars. Some looked self inflicted, others resembled needle marks.

"Ah, the drugs." He smiled. "Julia told me to get out from under the car. That she had a surprise for me. So I crawled out and on the hood of the car, she'd set down this little bag with white powder in it. She'd found it in mom and dad's room while they were sleeping and she said we should try it. So! We pour out the whole bag and we take turns with it. We didn't know what to do with it but we'd seen our folks put it in their noses and so we both took one big _sniff!_ "

He made a loud snorting noise, making Harley giggle.

"I'm having the time of my life. Running circles around the woods, laughing cause Julia's chasing me through the trees. Next thing I know, it's night time and when I turn around, Julia isn't there."

He sighs and lights another cigarette.

"But, I hear lots of footsteps and my tongue won't stop flicking inside my mouth."

Joker laughed, not caring that his cigarette was dropping ash onto his bare stomach.

"So I go back to where I think the car is. All I see through the trees is red and blue lights. Turns out, the footsteps are the cops and they're there to zip Julia into a big white body bag. I guess she'd done more than I thought and died only a short time after I ran off into the woods."

He was smiling, not caring that his cigarette was going to shortly begin to burn his knuckles.

"And, of course, the pigs aren't gonna leave lil ole me with my folks after all that mess so they loaded me into the back of a cruiser and took me to the local orphanage. As far as I know, mommy and daddy are still rotting behind bars to this day."

Harley put a hand over her mouth.

"I'm...I'm sorry. I didn't know-"

Joker began to cackle and cough. He looked Harley in the eyes. Suddenly his smile faded and his eyes became dark. He cupped his hand under her chin and pressed the tip of his nose against hers.

" _That's_ why we don't go digging our _noses_ into other people's _business_."

He hissed and roughly jerked her head to the side as he rolled out of the bed, stomping his feet onto the carpet. He stormed into the bathroom where she heard the shower start.

"Get out!" He barked.

She sat up, unsure whether he meant it or not.

"Get out of here before I knock your fucking teeth in!" He screamed.

Harley gathered her clothes and quickly ran out of the room, expecting to ram straight into the goon assigned to stand guard. To her surprise, no one was there. Harley quickly pulled on her clothes and sprinted barefoot down the hallway, praying that whatever relationship that had spawned between herself and Joker would now be over.


	5. Luxury

It wasn't over. And, at this point, four years later, she wasn't certain it ever would be. Her stringing days were over. She wasn't 22 anymore and Joker had decided she would go on to do _bigger better things!_ Whatever that was supposed to mean in the world of drug dealing.

Instead of hopping around clubs in crop tops and skirts, she was now forced to attend high end dinner parties in cocktail dresses and stilettos to socialize with all the other higher ups in the drug trade society of Gotham. Of course, Joker never made an appearance at these sorts of things. He was too busy standing in the VIP section of Al Ghoul's club, coked out of his skull, watching the four stringers he hired to replace one Harley.

The routine went as so:

Harley attends a cocktail party or something similar in foreign countries or cities, finds a new connection for Joker or flirts her way into a rich businessman's pockets and finds a way to blackmail them into working with Joker or forking thousands over to him. Then, she flies back home to Gotham, meets up with Joker, wherever he may be, hands him his money, gets her share (which is more often than not, less than thirty percent), engages in whatever rough, disgusting sex he demanded from her, she would return to her home, and then got back onto another plane to begin the cycle once again.

If she was honest, she was living much more luxurious than she was when she was 22. Joker had moved her to an upscale condo that he paid for out of pocket. She had walk in closets, a master bedroom with a king size bed, more bathrooms than she would ever need or use.

She loved her home. She loved the access to the world her chosen profession gave her. She'd wake in the morning and roll out of bed to sunlight pouring in through the large glass windows, heating her bare stomach and face. She would look over the horizon and see the crowded city of Gotham. She could almost smell the smog and depression.

Part of the deal in her new life was that she was required to cut all contact with those in her life. No calls to mom, dad, no more friends, no more anything. Just Joker. He was the only one she was authorized to have contact with outside of what he called "business matters"

She didn't like it, but what could she do now? She was in too deep as this point. She'd devoted her late teen life and most of her early twenties to this man and his industry. All she knew was being a criminal.

Harley shook her head, trying to clear the thoughts from her head. She didn't like that. Thinking about those things.

Her phone beeped. She knew it was Joker before checking the screen, because who else would it be?

 _ **Harl. airport in 45 mins. Flight 739.**_

 _ **-J**_

That's how it went. She was on call at all times and had no choice but to go at Joker's every demand. Harley forgot about eating breakfast and immediately got dressed. Before long, she was in a taxi on her way to the Gotham airport with the small suitcase she kept pre-packed for last moment's notice trips.

Harley sauntered up to the nearest help desk and lifted her sunglasses.

"Hello. I'm here to purchase my ticket for flight 739?" She smiled, chewing her mint flavored gum.

"Flight 739, going to Shibuya?" The woman asked.

"Sure." She grinned.

 _Shibuya? That's a new one._

She'd been to Japan once or twice but never to the district in which Shibuya festered. Harley took a deep breath and mentally prepared herself for the 14 hour flight.

Arriving in Shibuya was a feeling Harley could only compare to that of a dying sailor finally spotting land after a month at sea. She damn near kissed the ground. Her first goal was to take a shower and eat food that did not come out of a plastic bag. There was no time for that as her phone dinged once again.

 _ **Harley. Hotel Shinjuku. One night stay. Get dressed up. Party on rooftop.**_

 _ **-J**_

Harley took her bag and went to the restroom where she changed into a black, glittery dress and a pair of heels, tall enough to hurt her ankles. She applied her makeup in the mirror and held the end of her dress under the hand dryer in order to try and sort out the wrinkles from being folded up in a suitcase for a week. She finally felt up to par for a high end, upper class rooftop party for majorly rich individuals.

She flagged a cab and reached her destination. She traded her bag to the man at the desk for her room key and headed to the elevator, taking a deep breath before pressing the button that sent her upwards. She closed her eyes and put herself into the mindset of a top tier drug dealer's personal assistant. She was here to make deals. She was here to do _business._ It was just like stringing. Except no backpack. No supply. No fun.

The elevator doors opened and Harley exited, a polite smile on her face as she shook hands with multiple Japanese businessmen. They were all friendly and very interested in the glamorous dress she was wearing. She helped herself to a drink from the bar and began her mission of recruiting new connections and links in the great big, Joker chain.

A few hours passed. Harley's face hurt from smiling and fake laughing all night at jokes that were either not funny or meant as a sleazy attempt to sleep with her.

She did, however, manage to gain many deals and offers from some of the business men and planned to meet with them again when they would be in the United States in the fall. She let Joker know about his new potential partners and was rewarded with a "Good girl." via text with a devil face emoji.

Harley sat on the edge of the rooftop, looking down at the city through the tall iron railing.

"Miss?" A young man said behind her. Harley turned to face him.

"Yeah?" She asked.

"This is for you." He handed her a small card and with that, he turned away and walked back towards the bar.

She looked over the card. On it was written: _**Room 41 2:00 am- bring proof of connection to J.**_


End file.
